


A Lesson in Words

by Tangorine



Series: Life in the Shatterdome [3]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst, Collars, Incest, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Puppy Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangorine/pseuds/Tangorine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sure, the world’s ending and you want to fuck?”</p><p>“Well, it seems like other lessons just don’t seem to <i>stick<i>.”</i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson in Words

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I can’t even blame the kink meme for this one. I don’t know what Scott Hansen’s back story is exactly, hence leaving it ambiguous on purpose below. But I just really needed Herc buckling one of Max's old collars around Chuck's throat.
> 
> EDIT: OMG look at asreal01's awesome/hot/amazing piece of fan art here: 
> 
> http://kaijusizefeels.tumblr.com/post/58221608731/good-boy-just-in-time-for-chuck-hansens

“What the hell do you think you were doing out there?” Herc snaps at his son, slamming the door shut to their shared bunk. It echoes loudly, a hollow clang reverberating through the Shatterdome ominously. They don’t talk that much these days, not about anything apart from kaiju and Striker, but Chuck tries not to flinch when Herc moves closer, anger and irritation and disappointment combined. He’s _pissed_.

“Nothing that didn’t need to be said.” Chuck bites back, trying but failing to maintain his glare with his father. He can still hear Herc’s scathing tone - _you’re a jaeger pilot, act like it_ \- and tries not to feel too wounded as he sees the old man take Raleigh’s side, again and again and this time again. He knows he’s right, he doesn’t trust Raleigh and he can’t, not to guard both their backs, he’s doing this for the both of them, and this just twists the knife a little deeper.

“You know I’m right.” He continues, voice shaking with hurt and anger. “We can’t rely on them, not on that has been and certainly not on Stacker’s little charity case.”

There’s a pause, and Herc’s eyes narrow. 

“You know you don’t mean that.” He’s right, and Chuck knows it. Despite his problems with Raleigh, he’s known Mako since he was ten, and he shouldn’t be letting his abandonment and misplacement issues get in the way of that. But it’s too late for reason now, and his arm is hurting and he doesn’t give two shits about reason when he could be hurting Herc just as much as he’s hurting him. He’s never seen the old man this angry before, and he knows he should stop before he can’t dig himself out again. But something vaguely masochistic and bitter keeps him going, keeps him charging on like a wounded bull.

“I can’t trust anyone, not you, not them. I mean, just look at how much you trusted dear Uncle Scott, and where that got _us._ ”

Again, there is silence, and Chuck knows he’s monumentally fucked up when Herc looks at him like he’s a stranger.

“Get on the floor and strip.”

“Fuck off.” Instead of back pedalling and grovelling like he knows he should, Chuck stands his ground. He’s been in the drift with his dad long enough to know what things are forbidden, and Chuck has just crossed the final line.

“Get on the floor and kneel before I put you there.” Herc snaps again, voice so cold that despite himself, Chuck shivers.

He strips, shucking his clothes off angrily, no need for modesty as he kneels, cold and exposed. But he can’t help himself, so he sinks to the ground, one knee at a time whilst grousing,

“Sure, the world’s ending and you want to fuck?”

“Well, it seems like other lessons just don’t seem to _stick_.”

“And what would those lessons be, _father_?” Chuck wants to hit himself, but he just can’t stop. “The ones you were teaching me whilst you spent your life fighting in the army, or the one where you abandoned mum so you could save yourself, or the one when you let Uncle Scott pilot when you knew he-”

Herc punches him. He pulls his strength, because Chuck isn’t spitting blood, but pain blossoms down his chin and he nurses his jaw. It’s more surprise than genuine hurt. Herc’s never hit him before. Ever. 

“Open your mouth and keep it open, since you like talking so much.” Chuck just glares mutinously, but does what he’s told. He know’s it’s fucked up, but he gets off on this, the low growl of his dad’s voice telling him what to do, authoritative and strong . And then he snorts to himself. Some would think he never had a father figure when he was young.

Herc just leaves him, to rummage through a drawer which is odd, because Chuck stores Max’s doggie treats over there, before his eyes widen when he realises what Herc’s holding in his hands. It’s Max’s old dog collar, leather worn soft - he knows, because he’s put that collar on Max before, traced the softness, wondering what it felt like around his throat, and he tries to get up, scrambling. The bastard had probably seen it in the drift, and oddly, he almost feels violated at the knowledge, being used against him like this.

“Oh _fuck_ no.” He spits. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ old man.”

“You really think you have a choice here?”

Chuck shivers, eyeing the door and wondering if he has enough time to get away. Herc is walking towards him slowly, and with every step his stomach sinks lower, anger and shame welling up inside of him. He knows he shouldn’t have mentioned Scott, and he doesn’t mean a lot of the shit he says when he’s angry, but fear keeps him rooted to his spot, keeps his hands on his knees and clenches his hands into his fists, trying to stop them from shaking. He wants it, more than he cares to admit, but he doesn’t want it necessarily like this, with Herc so cold, so angry.

His dad raises a hand suddenly, and Chuck flinches despite himself. He expects another blow, but it never comes. There is another pause, so long that Chuck’s gaze flickers up to his dad’s face, surprised to see something undeniably raw about Herc’s expression.

“I’m sorry kid.” He murmurs shakily, tilting his head upwards and stroking Chuck’s grazed cheekbone with a callused thumb.

“I thought the point of this was to get _me_ to apologise.” The words sound blunt, but Chuck keeps his tone soft, and all of a sudden Herc snaps out of it, lips quirking upwards again.

“Really Chuck.” He says, voice exasperated, but almost fond. “I give you an out and you throw it right back.”

“What can I say,” Chuck shrugs. “I’ve got a problem.”

With that, Herc just sinks to his knees, so that they’re level, and reveals his throat, fingers trailing down, brushing his adam’s apple. He loops the leather collar around, and Chuck has to close his eyes, forgetting to breathe as he feels the thick band around his throat, tightening and constricting. Herc buckles Max’s collar around Chuck’s throat, and like he does with Max, he slips two fingers under the band, just to test if it’s too tight, and then smoothes a hand over Chuck’s head, as if stroking him like a dog.

Chuck gulps, feeling the leather tighten and then loosen around his throat, and feels his face flush as Herc sits back on their bunk, unbuttoning the top button of his pants and then drawing the zip down. It’s obvious what he wants, and Chuck is about to move before Herc cuts him off with one look.

“Crawl.”

And fuck Chuck feels like a sick freak for getting off on that, and it really just fucking says it all when he feels more like a freak crawling like a dog than he does for sleeping with his own father. Or it’s the combination of both, but nevertheless, he crawls over to Herc, and noses at Herc’s cock, keeping his hands on the floor as he licks at the tip, down the length, lapping slowly and firmly, head bobbing up and down with his movements. Herc just grunts, a little pained, and Chuck just uses the moment to take him further, sucking as hard and as deep as he can. Herc brings a hand up and places it on his head, helping to push him down, but Chuck is grateful when Herc keeps his hips still, barely even thrusting. Herc’s hands are still stroking through his hair, petting him like a goddamn dog, and he hates how good it feels, mouth stretched full, unable to do anything but keep sucking.

He looks up, and he sees Herc, head tilted back with a gasp, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted and he pulls off his dad’s cock with a wet pop, enjoying it when Herc just opens one eye, glancing narrowly at him.

“Done so soon, pup?” 

But he doesn’t let Chuck reply because all of a sudden, he’s got Chuck on the bed, face first, arms pinned behind his back and one knee between his legs, nudging his balls. Chuck just moans, a broken sound that is muffled slightly by the pillow, and he hears Herc pop the cap on the lube, jerking slightly as the cold liquid hits the back of his thighs.

“I was going to make you play fetch for this.” Herc says, sliding two thick fingers into his hole, twisting slightly as he pulls them out again. “Make you crawl on all fours and pick the tube up with your mouth. But I guess there’s plenty of time for that, right son?”

Chuck just moans, trying to push back onto Herc’s fingers, gasping as Herc adds another finger, the other hand jerking him off in short, rapid strokes. Just when he think he’s going to come, Herc stops abruptly, taking his fingers out and Chuck whines, fucking whines like a dog and almost begs for it. He hates how much he loves this, anger completely forgotten as he just enjoys the moment, the anticipation of being fucked and stretched. It’s only a temporary fix - he knows the bitterness will be back, along with their inability to communicate, but for the moment, he enjoys it when Herc aligns himself, pushing the tip of his cock in, one hand on his hip, the other grabbing his collar.

His back arches, and the collar strains against his throat, and fuck there’d better not be bruises later because he doesn’t know how the hell he’s going to explain those away. But Herc just starts to ram into him, one punishing stroke after another, cock hitting his prostate unrelentingly. It’s too intense, almost painful, and his orgasm hits him before he even knows it’s there, and Herc is there to guide him through it, jerking him off and holding him there on the edge just for a few seconds later.

“Good boy.” Herc murmurs, and climaxes not long after Chuck, pumping into him, and Chuck can feel the slide, and the slick between his ass cheeks and grimaces at the feeling. Herc just collapses onto him, muscled torso blanketing Chuck’s body, and they stay still for a while, breathing heavily, breaths loud in the silence. It takes a while, but Herc pulls out of Chuck slowly, both of them wincing as he withdraws, and he returns with a washcloth, cleaning the mess they’ve made before lying next to Chuck. He unbuckles the collar and lets it fall to the ground, a heavy thunk on the ground, eyes indecipherable as he checks his son’s neck for bruising. 

“You okay?”

Herc always asks him this, especially after sex, and Chuck wonders if it has anything to do with the fact that Herc isn’t asking him if he’s okay after being tied up like a dog and then humiliated, he’s asking if Chuck is okay with _this_ , being fucked by his dad on an ongoing basis through an insane war between giant robots and aliens the size of fucking skyscrapers. They never really talk about their issues, not really, but he’s grown used to this routine, the one where they fight, they fuck and then they fuck again.

“Yeah.” Chuck rasps, throat sore. And just to be a little shit he smirks. “Good talk, dad.”

Herc just ignores him, choosing instead to loop an arm around his waist, pulling him close.

“Shutup and go to sleep.”


End file.
